Page 22 of Love Punch

For the first time since I’d been home, I awoke refreshed. A few days after Arthur pulled me from my self-imposed hermitage, I felt like my head was really clear. My bed was clean, there was a fresh breeze blowing through the bedroom curtains, and I was ready to start the day.

Apparently, so was every part of my body. For the first time in over a week, I’d woken with morning wood that just wouldn’t quit. The feeling of it rubbing, hard and insistent, at the fabric of my boxer-briefs and the weight of the bedspread above was a special kind of torture. I slid my hand down below the covers and took hold. That first day out with Arthur had been…something else. it was like after three years of us barely maintaining a professional facade, it was dropping ever so slightly. He let me hold his hand, let me hold him from behind. In the days since, we’d somewhat fallen back into our old routine as he tried to pull me out of my shell. But it was the vision of that day on the riverbank that leapt to the forefront of my mind.

If I’d only been brave enough to kiss his neck…

I pulled my foreskin back over my cockhead, already slicked up with dots of pre-cum.

He would have turned, put his hands around my neck and kissed me.

A slow stroke upward savoured the comfort of it all, just like the prolonged unfurling love story in my mind.

Arthur kissing me slow and deep, then pulling back with a mischievous smile. “We can’t do this out here, can we? Take me home, big guy.”

Arthur, below me on the bed. On all fours, just begging to be manhandled. Wanting me to have my way with him. We could be gentle later. “I want it rough,” he said. “I want you to own—"

And then I felt that punch to my stomach, the one that took me down. Myself hitting the canvas and it all going back. It was like my cock deflated as I did, head burying itself back in the pillow. I’d lost my last fight. That wasn’t the plan.

If I’d won, I’d have left that ring and kissed Arthur right in front of everyone.Fuck. I’d have kissed him and asked him to run away with me, away from the cameras and press and to that little hut in the Maldives like we’d talked about. And then we’d have made love under the moonlight. I was sure of it.

But I didn’t win. We weren’t in the Maldives. We were at my parents’ house. I rubbed at the sleeve full of tattoos, the ones I’d told Arthur were boxing terms in every language. If he’d bothered to look them up, he might have questions. That’s why I’d booked the last one myself—he’d likely recognise the term in Welsh.

Giving up on my morning “me time,” I rolled out of bed and trudged into the bathroom.. I made sure to lock the door on Arthur’s side before stepping into the shower. It barely washed away the guilt and self-loathing, but it was a start. I managed to brush my teeth and had wrapped a towel around myself when there was a knock on Arthur’s side.

“I’m coming,” I said, rinsing my mouth and opening the door. Arthur was dressed in long pyjama bottoms, tartan ones, but they rested low on his hips. Otherwise his chest was bare, the smattering of short hair I liked over his chest and stomach. He’d obviously trimmed recently, but it was very much there.

“You used to be a twink,” I teased, reaching over to tap his chest with one finger.

Arthur blushed but glared up at me. “And you used to be a boxer. Now shoo, I need to pee. And you’ve been in the shower forever, I had to listen to that running water and it wastorture.”

I grinned and stood in place until he gave me a shove. “Surprisingly strong, you are,” I said in my best butchered Yoda impression.

“Fuck off,” he said with another shove. “If you think I’m surprisingly strong, we’ll see later. I’m commandeering your parents’ gym for today’s activities.”

I rolled my eyes playfully but retreated into my room and collapsed into bed, staring at the ceiling. Arthur closed the door but it opened a minute later, and he lied down next to me. I was suddenly hyperaware of how naked I was, which was ridiculous—he’d seen me undressed so many times, both in and out of the ring. The towel was longer and heavier than any pair of shorts I’d ever worn. But he was laying next to me, equally unclothed with his hair ruffled from sleep, and I wanted to reach over and get something started. If only my dick hadn’t decided I was unworthy of it all.

“So, we’re working out?” I asked after a second of silence. Silence had always been comfortable between us, but now it felt charged. Static. Damn those walls and how slowly they were crumbling.

Arthur rolled onto his side, so that he was even closer to me. He was practically under my armpit. I’d barely have to move to pull him in closer.

Fuck it. I relaxed my arm and let it fall behind him, just above his head. All he would have to do was lift his head and drop it onto my arm…and he did. There we were, two half naked men insisting on a professional relationship, and sharing a half-naked cuddle.Great. I took a subtle sniff of his sleep rumpled hair. I was in heaven. Or would be, if it weren’t hell trying to figure out where our boundaries were. Or if my long-suffering brain—and cock—would work together andget horny. He smiled as he talked, and I realised far too late that him talking should have meant melistening.

“Bradley, you’re not listening, are you?”

“Sorry, half asleep,” I lied. “What were you saying?”

“Where did you zone out?” Arthur asked.

“…before you started,” I admitted sheepishly. Arthur justhuffedand sat up. I wanted to reach out and manhandle him back into his rightful place.

“I said, you’ll need your tracksuit bottoms. We’re using the gym today. Get those boxing gloves out again.”

“I retired less than a week ago,” I protested half-heartedly.

“Oh, you’ll be holding the pads. I want you to teachmehow to box,” Arthur clarified.

“Why?”

“Do you want the truth, or the bullshit reasoning?” asked Arthur.

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